Where the Sun Don't Shine
by AFictionalWriter
Summary: Dedicated to both Fowler-haters and baseball fans, includes major Fowler whumpage and tons of laughter. One-shot set before season 1 finale and after Peter's house is bugged. Updated w/ new AN to help future readers; please R&R.


Author's Note: Includes Fowler getting hit you-know-where for being a you-know-what just about all the time, along with Peter getting angry, people cracking up, Neal trying to not crack up and a foul ball. Baseball terms may be a little off; baseball season created by me and does not represent an actual baseball season.

Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar, nor am making any profit off of this.

~oOoOoOo~

Peter walked up to the base, swinging his bat to stretch his arms and get ready. Reaching the base he dug his feet into the dirt and swung his bat a few more times before facing the young CIA agent on the pitcher's mound.

The FBI and CIA held baseball games against eachother twice a month starting in April and ending in October every year, mainly to pass the time and keep the agents focused on something constructive (if baseball could be called constructive) on their time off. There wasn't supposed to be any competitiveness to the game - they were on the same side, after all - but that didn't stop the agents from fighting for bragging rights whenever a team won a game.

Peter had missed most of the games held during the three years he was chasing Neal, choosing to spend his time pouring over old files and books about certain pieces of artwork. But now, with Neal in his custody and working for the FBI, he didn't need to worry about what precious piece of art or jewelry he'd decide to steal next.

What surprised him, though, was that Neal had chosen to watch the game today.

Sitting on the metal bleachers next to Elizabeth that had no guards against stray foul balls, amongst people wearing jeans and T-shirts, he certainly stood out in his favorite Devore suit and black fedora hat. Peter normally would've thought that sitting on bleachers with dirt and grime everwhere usually sent the conman running for the hills, a briefcase of expensive clothes in each hand.

Peter could list dozen of reasons for why Neal was sitting next to his wife watching a baseball game in his sleep. Maybe he was sucking up to his wife, or to Peter. Maybe he had nothing better to do, but Peter seriously doubted that concept - he was sure Neal could spend hours looking for Kate or doing something else other than watching baseball. Or perhaps he'd hit his head on his shower curtain rod that morning and completely forgot that he despised sports. That idea made Peter smile as he focused again on the pitcher's mound.

He raised his solid wooden bat to get ready for the pitch. The pitcher threw the ball at what might have been a hundred miles an hour but Peter didn't swing his bat or do anything to even suggest that he'd noticed the pitcher had thrown the ball.

Instead, as the pitcher threw the ball, almost hitting Peter in the head as it flew by him, Peter had turned to look at some movement out of the left corner of his eye. The smile he'd gotten at the thought of Neal accidentally hitting his head disappeared as he saw two of the last people he wanted to see that day talking to his partner and wife on the bleachers.

Garrett Fowler and his scrawny henchman.

Peter was too busy trying to figure out why Fowler was talking to Elizabeth and Neal to notice the umpire, a burly retired CIA agent, shout "Strike one!" and the catcher throw the ball back to the pitcher. All he knew at that moment was that, whatever the reason, Peter was sick and tired of Fowler causing trouble - sick and tired enough to become more angry than he'd been in a long time. Looking at the group on the bleachers he could see Neal's face, which was noticeably strained without his wide-toothed grin, and Elizabeth's concerned expression as she looked from Neal to Fowler and back again. Fowler and his henchman didn't seem to notice Peter, or perhaps they were ignoring him in the hopes that they would be gone before he got a chance to walk over there.

The umpire seemed to notice that Peter wasn't paying attention to what was going on and tapped him on the shoulder. Peter almost jumped at the touch, his mind still focused on the four on the bleachers, but turned again to the pitcher and raised his bat again. Peter attempted to put all of his anger into the bat instead of his big mouth, or his fists.

The young pitcher threw yet another fast ball, and this time Peter hit: directly to the left towards the metal bleachers that had no guard against foul balls and hitting Garrett Fowler a little south of his cheap, black belt.

There seemed to be a few seconds pause as the audience on the bleachers and both baseball teams took in what had just happened, then they all begin to laugh almost uncontrollably as Fowler keeled over in pain and fell down the stairs all the way to the dirt ground below. Elizabeth joined the dozens of people laughing, her hand covering her mouth as her face turned a slight pink but Neal was apparently trying to hold in his laughter, his lips a straight line as he watched Fowler writhe around in pain.

Fowler's henchman practically stumbled down the stairs, his face slightly red as everyone continued to bend over with laughter, and grabbed one of Fowler's arms to help him stand up but Fowler shoved him away.

Peter, who was a little red-faced himself, not from embarassment but from anger, and with a small smile playing on his lips for the second time in less than twenty minutes, glanced around at all of the people laughing and then at Fowler rolling left and right on the ground and at his henchman standing over him, not sure what to do as his face got redder and redder as the people laugher louder and louder. After what seemed like hours but was instead only seven minutes, the umpire, who had turned his back towards the others in an effort to hide his own laughter, finally calmed down enough to call "Fowl ball!" and force Peter to, yet again, take a shot at the ball.

This time, Peter hit the ball towards the outfield, a dozen yards away and in the complete opposite direction of Fowler and his lacky. Running the bases with ease, Peter ended the game with the winning homerun for the FBI seconds before the umpire shouted over the laughter still finding its way through the bleachers and dirt field, "Game over! FBI wins!"

Grabbing his bat and an old glove from the dugout Peter walked over towards Elizabeth and Neal waiting for him at the bottom of the bleachers, FBI and CIA agents patting him on the shoulder with smirks on their sweaty faces as they said things like "Good game" and "Nice shot." When Peter reached the two Elizabeth gave him a tight hug and, pulling away so Peter could see the slight grin on her face and the amusement she still had in her eyes, punched him on the shoulder.

"Ow!" said Peter, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand. "What was that for?"

"For sinking to Fowler's level, that's what," she replied, but the slight grin on her face offset her firm tone.

"How was that sinking to Fowler's level? The worst he's done is bug our house, I was just giving him a warning to not do it again. And should I even bother to ask what Fowler and his little henchman were doing here in the first place or not?"

"I thought it was hilarious," Neal chimmed in, seeming to think it was now safe enough to laugh at Fowler rolling around on the ground. "Fowler was just trying to cause some trouble, he didn't have any plan for anything important. But I don't think he's going to try anything too serious after that."

Elizabeth shook her head, giving up the fight she was obviously going to lose as they all started to walk towards Peter's Taurus. Just before they reached the parking lot they bumped into Fowler and his henchman. Their faces were still a bright red, Fowler's back covered in dirt from being on the ground and an unidentifiable expression on his lacky's face - maybe he'd just realized that Fowler wasn't all that powerful as he'd originally thought.

"You... you..." Fowler stuttered as he pointed a fat forefinger at Peter, who was still angry enough and had learned enough from Neal to place a fake innocent expression on his face.

"Yes, Agent Fowler" What seems to be the problem here?"

"You..." Fowler repeated again. A grin appeared on Peter's face as he realized that Fowler was too angry enough to be able to complete a sentence, much less the threat that was apparently tumbling around in his head. Peter patted him on the shoulder as he walked by him with his wife and partner to the car.

"I'll tell you right now, I just can't wait to see what happens at the next game."

~oOoOoOo~

New Author's Note: I'm adding this note because some readers seem to be a little confused with what went on in the story, based on the reviews I got back. Elizabeth doesn't recognize who Fowler is in this story - it's set before the season one finale, and if you remember right Elizabeth doesn't find out who Fowler really is or what he looks like until he and his henchmen come barging into her store; up until then she only knows that he was the one bugging her house and trying to get Neal into trouble.

As for what Fowler's talking about, he's mainly saying anything that would get Neal angry and throw a punch, like he ends up doing to Peter later on. If Neal punches Fowler he could get sent back to prison, no questions asked, so Neal tries very hard to _not_ get angry.


End file.
